


Oh Shit, Did You Say Starbucks?

by reader51402



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist!Keith, College, Crack, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Halloween, Lance (Voltron) Needs a Hug, M/M, and help, honestly a crack fic, honestly i need help too, pre-med!lance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-28 01:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15697782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reader51402/pseuds/reader51402
Summary: Altea University is proud to present:The 4th AnnualHALLOWEEN DOOR DECORATING CONTEST*No gore, no noises, no jump scares*1st place prize: $25 gift card to Starbucks*Restrictions may apply*





	1. The Announcement

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my very first Voltron fic, so I'm really excited to see what everyone thinks. Shoutout to my sister for editing. 
> 
> This is a modern college au, so lance, keith, and hunk are sophomores, pidge is a freshman, shiro is a senior. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Well, I’m pretty sure roses is the way to go. I mean, historically, I’ve had about an eighty percent success rate with roses, compared to an average of fifty percent wi-” Lance’s sentence cut off.

“Lance? Buddy? Fifty percent with what? I need to know, Lance, this is important.” 

Lance waved an arm absently at Hunk. He stepped to the side of the hallway, toward the object of his attentions. More specifically, toward the giant, bright orange, garishly decorated poster pinned to the wall. Hunk came up beside him and read off the paper.

“‘Halloween Door Decorating Contest. No gore, no noises, no jump scares.’ Really, Lance? You want to enter a school-run contest?” He turned back to Lance with an eyebrow raised. 

“It not about the contest,” Lance hissed, “it’s about  _ that _ .” He pointed to the bottom of the poster. “Twenty-five dollar gift card to Starbucks for the winner. I  _ need _ that card, Hunk. That card is the only thing that could possibly get me through midterms.”

Hunk’s expression didn’t change. “You know you could just buy the coffee, right? You definitely have more than twenty-five dollars. Besides, you shouldn’t be drinking that much coffee anyway.”

Lance stuck out his tongue, affronted by the mere suggestion. “I can’t just  _ buy _ coffee, Hunk. That’s pathetic. I need to prove to the baristas that someone cared enough to buy me a gift card. That’s what Starbucks is all about!”

“About trying to convince tired, underpaid baristas that you’re cool?”

“Precisely.”

 

・・・

 

Lance put the tinsel back on the shelf and shuffled down the aisle, carefully appraising the various craft supplies on display. He reached down and picked up a plastic skull, careful not to dislodge the phone balanced between his shoulder and his ear.

“This is a nightmare. These skulls aren’t even anatomically accurate! What kind of person has twenty teeth? What kind?” 

Hunk started to say something, but was cut off.

“The fake kind, that’s who. The fake, plastic, dollar store brand person.” Lance huffed and continued his search. 

“Buddy, maybe you should just… let it go,” Hunk replied through the phone. “I feel like this might be driving you crazy a little, you know? If it’s really that important to you, I’ll get you a Starbucks gift card myself.”

Lance shook his head vehemently, ignorant of the fact that Hunk couldn’t see him. “It’s too late,” Lance mourned, “I’m in too deep. It’s about the principle now. I refuse to lose after I’ve already come this far.”

“You haven’t actually done anything, Lance. You found out about this contest two days ago, and you haven’t even put anything on your door yet.” Hunk sounded profoundly exasperated, but Lance gave him no heed, and pressed on to the paint section. 

“Too late, Hunk. Too late.”

Hunk groaned. “Fine. You know what? You do this, Lance. I give you my full support in your endeavor to decorate the best damn door that Altea University has ever seen. And when you collapse on the quad from sleep deprivation and glue stick fumes, I will even carry you princess-style to your bed like the good friend I am. But when you wake up, and you look at me with those sad, sad eyes, because you are finally regretting this decision, I will look right back at you and I will say, ‘ _ I told you so, you dumb bitch _ ,’ and you will have to live with that.”

“You have a deal,” Lance said, and hung up. He tucked his phone into his pocket and picked up another tube of paint with his free hand.  _ Cerulean or royal blue?  _ He pondered. After a good few seconds, he shrugged and threw both in his basket.

“No gore, no noises, no jump scares,” the rules had said. The latter two were easy enough to exclude, but as a pre-med student, Lance had been hoping to rely on anatomically-correct bloodbaths for his decoration. It seemed he would have to get a little bit creative. Spiders and bats it would be, then. At least he could rely on his steady hand for painting. 

On the other end of the aisle, a boy about Lance’s age and sporting long black hair was perusing the red paints. Lance watched curiously out of the corner of his eye as the boy, dressed in a leather jacket and skinny jeans (looking altogether too attractive to be in an art supply store at 11 pm on a Saturday), methodically picked out tubes and gathered them in a basket. He seemed to know what he was doing, and Lance found himself squinting at the bottles he chose, trying to determine which kind they were.

The boy picked up a novelty sign that read, “Happy Halloween” in twisting black letters, and Lance thought,  _ Oh. He’s in the contest too _ . He busied himself with the brushes in front of him, but kept an eye on the boy. Always best to know your competition, Lance figured. No one but him was getting that gift card. 

 

・・・

 

The door of Room 223, Alfor Residence Hall, was nothing to behold. It was a standard dormitory door, solid, light-colored, and absolutely boring. But that was about to change. Pidge lifted the cutout bat higher on the door, and posed so that Lance could see. 

“Higher. No, lower. Left a little? No, other left. Alright, now down just the tiniest bit. Perfect! Now hold it while I tape it in place.”

Pidge sighed, but did as she was asked.

“Do you think maybe this is getting a little out of hand, Lance?” She gestured at the horde of paper bats that littered the door, along with the pile of scraps underneath. “You could have just written ‘Happy Halloween’ or something. I’m pretty sure Hunk was right about this making you crazy.”

Lance finished his taping and turned to pout at her. “But think of all the coffee! The pumpkin spice lattes! The caramel frappuccinos! Not to mention, think of how good it will feel to see mullet-man’s face when he loses! I mean, he looked like a real artist and everything.”

Pidge pushed up her glasses and hummed thoughtfully, but she wasn’t looking at Lance, instead at something directly behind him. He frowned. 

“What?”

She looked back at him. The corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly. She looked almost devious, and Lance was suddenly very afraid of what she was about to say.

“You said he was wearing a leather jacket, right? And you spent plenty of time describing his hair. Long, dark, and wavy, you said?” 

Lance nodded hesitantly, and Pidge’s grin grew. She lifted her finger, and pointed over Lance’s shoulder. 

“Hair like that?”

Lance whipped his head around, and found himself looking directly at the boy from the store, who was kneeling in front of a door down the hall. His jacket was lying on the floor next to a basket filled with paints and brushes, and his hair (definitely a mullet, Lance confirmed) was tied up loosely at the nape of his neck. He looked devastatingly handsome, and Lance was absolutely determined to destroy him in the contest. No way was he going to be bested in both looks  _ and  _ artistic ability. There was only so much his ego could take. 

The boy stood up from his crouched position, and, oblivious to his audience, proceeded to take a large sheet of white paper to his door, so that the entire surface became a blank canvas. He smoothed it down flat and began setting tubes of paint out on the floor in front of the door, along with several empty palettes and well-worn paint brushes. He paused for a second, and frowned. Then he swiftly opened the door and disappeared into the room, leaving Lance and Pidge in varying states of shock (as in, Pidge not at all bothered, and Lance rocked to his core). 

Lance pivoted back around to look Pidge in the eye. 

“Well, shit.”


	2. The Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk probably has better things to do than deal with Lance's new obsession.

“Sooooo… maybe we should talk about this new obsession of yours?” Hunk posited, as he not-so-subtly moved his book away from Lance’s scissors. They were seated at a table in the common room with Shay, Hunk with his textbook open his hand in Shay’s, and Lance with his craft supplies spread in front of him. He looked up at Hunk and grinned, half apologetic and half hysteric. 

“Or not,” Hunk said quickly. “We can absolutely completely ignore the glaring problem that is this ridiculous contest and continue on not studying for midterms. No problemo. Carrying on.”

Lance snipped the corner off a wing and cursed. “I’m fine, Hunk, you worry too much. I’ll be done really soon and then I’ll have plenty of time to study while sipping my White Chocolate Mocha.”

Hunk snorted but said nothing. 

“Maybe Hunk is right,” Shay suggested. “It seems like maybe this is more about coffee and that boy than it is about artistic outlet.”

Lance’s head snapped up and he pointed an accusatory finger at Hunk. 

“I told you about the boy in confidence,” he hissed. 

Hunk shrugged. “You know I tell Shay everything. Besides, it’s not like I gave her any details, because there aren't any to give. Because you don’t  _ know _ anything about this boy, and are just covering up your attraction to him with competitiveness.”

Lance glared at him. “I do not find him attractive. And even if I did, I still plan on beating his ass in this contest. That gift card will be mine, and there is nothing you can say to stop me.”

“I know something else you’d like to do to his ass,” Hunk muttered. Lance punched his arm in retaliation and held up his scissors threateningly. 

“If you don’t stop talking I will sneak into your room tonight and cut tiny little holes into all of your clothing, so that in six months you will have no wardrobe and no idea what happened. And then I will use that as evidence to get the school to hire exterminators to get rid of the ‘moths’ in your room, so that they will spray chemicals and make it smell so bad that Shay will never sleep with you again.”

“Oddly specific threat, but point taken.” He directed his attention back to his textbook. 

Lance nodded firmly. “Good.”

 

・・・

 

Lance downed his fourth coffee in as many hours and once again scrutinized the door of his room. A stream of paper bats filled the middle, fading from small to large in an attempt to show depth. The bottom of the door featured dark blue waves with gray mist rising above it and flowing through the bats. The top was lined with thin, hanging branches that reached down as if they were grasping at something in the sea. Sure, the bats were crude silhouettes, the waves were just squiggly lines, and the branched looked more like lightning bolts, but it was a decent effort. Lance silently congratulated himself as he looked over his work. 

But… something was missing. He knew it. He needed something special, something that would pull the whole thing together into a cohesive piece, or something like that. Or maybe he had been watching too much Project Runway. Either option was plausible. Swallowing the last of his coffee, Lance turned and looked down the hallway at his competitor’s door. 

Only a week since he had started, and already the boy’s door was stunning. The whole thing was one big painting. It showed a dimly lit path through a forest, winding back into the distance as if it was a portal into the room beyond. The trees were ridiculously realistic, and at some point during his third coffee Lance had been tempted to try to walk through it, convinced that the boy had literally painted a forest into being. He still wasn’t entirely sure that wasn’t the case. 

The painting was dark enough to be spooky, but somehow the lighting was just right so that it looked like there was moonlight filtering through the branches overhead, tempting the passerby to venture down the path and into the arms of whatever evil lurked in the forest. Lance wrinkled his nose and turned away.  _ Goddamn art students _ . 

 

・・・

 

The next morning found Lance all but dead to the world. He shuffled over and plopped himself down at a table across from Hunk in the dining hall, and grunted in greeting. 

“Well good morning, Lance, how was your night?” Hunk said, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Lance groaned in response.

“Let me guess. You stayed up all night working on your door, forgot that sleep is necessary for survival, and now are totally unprepared for classes today?” 

Lance nodded and let his head fall onto the table. He didn’t bother picking it back up until he felt a body plunk down next to him. He looked up to see Pidge regarding him with the same unamused expression as Hunk. 

“You better be awake enough to work on the Compsci project later. I don’t want to have do another entire project without your help,” she said, pouring her fourth sugar packet into her cup of coffee. She maintained direct eye contact the entire time, which managed to make the action feel very threatening in a way that Lance couldn’t define. 

“We both know you don’t need my help,” he grumbled, “you’re way better than me. Besides, last time was absolutely not my fault, as I have repeatedly reminded you.”

“How was it not your fault that you were too distracted by Allura to do the work, and then too heartbroken when she rejected you to present to the class?”

“I was not distracted or heartbroken,” Lance replied indignantly, propping his head back up on his fist. “I simply got… sidetracked. Yep, sidetracked. Nothing to do with Allura, just me and my good-ol’ brain getting distracted.” Lance gave one of his patented charming smiles, but Pidge seemed unimpressed. 

“Uh-huh. Just make sure the same thing doesn’t happen with  _ him _ this time,” She said, tilting her head towards the other side of the dining hall. Lance glanced to his side, and, sure enough, the boy from down the hall was standing in line for scrambled eggs. He appeared to be deep in conversation with the guy standing next to him. He was older-looking than the art student, and had  _ ridiculously _ wide shoulders. The two of them were standing close to each other. Closer than Lance thought was normal. The older boy reached in for a hug, and Lance ripped his attention away. He didn’t want to intrude on a private moment.

“ _ That’s  _ him?” Hunk asked. “Huh.”

“What does ‘Huh’ mean?” Lance demanded, louder than was strictly necessary. 

“It means I can see why you’d wanna hit that.”

Lance cheeks heated. “Shut up, Hunk,” he mumbled. “It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s clearly in a relationship with Captain America over there.”

Hunk snorted. “Based on what evidence? They hugged. Once. That’s literally it. The rest is just your jealousy and inability to accept your feelings.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Lance glared. “Are you gonna ask me how it makes me feel, too?”

Hunk rolled his eyes. “Only if I thought you were mature enough to answer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! At the rate I'm writing right now, I hopefully will have this finished by the end of the week. If not, I'm fucked, because I go back to school on Saturday. Pray for me.


	3. The Captivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance may have a bit of an unhealthy obsession. Just a bit.

“I need answers.”

Pidge barely glanced up from her laptop. “Good evening to you too, Lance. How am I, you ask? I’m just dandy, thanks for asking. Wow, I really appreciate you taking the time to converse with me, your friend. Is there anything I can help you with on this fine evening?” 

Lance gave her tone no heed, and sat himself down on the bed next to her. “ _ Answers _ , Pidge. Are needed. By me. And you are the only person who can give them to me.”

“Answers about what?”

“ _ Him. _ ”

“You’re going to need to be more specific. I may be a genius, but I’m not a mind-reader.”

“You know,” Lance whined, “ _ him _ . The boy from down the hall. Mr. I’m-so-good-at-art-and-being-hot. That one? I need something, Pidge. Give me something.”

Pidge pushed up her glasses and resumed her typing. “I will give you information, Lance. But I will need something in exchange. My services are not free, you know.”

“Not even for dear, dear friends?” Lance wheedled.

“No. In exchange for every piece of information I give you about the boy, you will tell me one embarrassing story from your childhood, that I will record and use later for blackmail,” Pidge said matter-of-factly, leaving no room for argument. 

Lace huffed. “Fine.” Under his breath he mumbled, “This was a bad idea.”

Pidge grinned up at him, and in that moment the only thing Lance could see was the computer screen reflecting off her glasses. It was very unsettling, until he realized she was playing checkers. And losing, too. 

“Alright. What do you want to know?”

Lance considered his option. “Let’s start with name, year, and major.”

Pidge raised her eyebrows. “Three stories? Wow, you must be really into this guy. This will give me blackmail fodder for the next ten years.”

Lance felt his cheeks warm. “I am not into him! I just need to get to know the competition. Know your enemies, and all that.”

Pidge didn’t respond, but Lance could feel the silent judgement. This was  _ definitely _ a bad idea. 

“Ah-ha!” Pidge exclaimed, startling Lance. “Got it. Name: Keith. He’s a sophomore, too. And he’s a visual arts major.”

“I knew it! I knew no one could be that good at painting without having studied it. Keith, huh? Well, this Keith guy has no idea what’s coming to him.” Lance said, unjustly smug.

“I’ll bet he doesn’t,” Pidge muttered.

“I meant about the contest!” Lance yelped. “How do you manage to make everything sound sexual?”

This time Pidge was the one who sounded smug. “It’s a gift. Now, about those stories.”

Lance wrinkled his nose. “Fine. Have I ever told you about the time I ate cat food?”

 

・・・ 

 

_ Keith _ . The name was oddly fitting for the boy currently thirty feet away from Lance. They were both kneeling in front of their doors, working on the decorations. While Keith was being productive and adding details to his painting, however, Lance was just looking. Looking at his door, sure, but also looking at Keith. Discreetly, of course. At least he hoped it was discreet. All the while, Keith seemed to be oblivious, just studiously applying layers upon layers of light and shadow. His motions were graceful and deliberate, and Lance caught himself staring at his hands more than once. It was becoming a problem.

Lance himself had gotten no further work done on his door. He had sat, for half an hour, just staring at it. It was still missing something, he felt, but he had yet to figure out what it could be. A sign, maybe? Something colorful? His friends had been of little help in the matter. Pidge had suggested taking it all down and claiming that ‘the idea is to evoke the fear of nothingness in the casual observer, and terror of the unknown in the judges’. Hunk had said it was fine how it was. While both responses were appreciated (well, maybe just Hunk’s), neither was particularly enlightening. Lance needed inspiration, and he needed it fast. 

  
  


・・・

 

The narrow aisles of the art supply store were a little more familiar to Lance this time around. He navigated the store quickly, and it didn’t take him long to find exactly what he was looking for. It was in the exact same place on the shelves he had seen it last. It sat at the end of the paint aisle, in all it’s tacky glory, practically beckoning Lance to pick it up. The laminated sign was the one he had seen Keith pick up the last time Lance was here. It was long and rectangular, and read “Happy Halloween”. The letters were solid black against a bright pumpkin-print background, and it was exactly what Lance needed to complete his door. It was colorful, childish, and would give the door the focal point that it needed. Just looking at the sign made Lance confident in his chances. 

The lone register in the store was being occupied when Lance went up to pay. It took him less than a second to recognize who it was in front of him. The wide frame and dyed gray hair gave it away as soon as Lance looked. It was the boy he had seen Keith with in the dining hall, the one who had hugged him. The one who was no doubt his boyfriend, no matter what kind of logical evidence Hunk would’ve countered with. And now he was here, in the store, probably buying more supplies for Keith. Lance was tempted to walk out of the store, but managed to quell the urge just enough to scold himself. What was he doing letting some stupid crush get in the way of his coffee addiction? No way was he going to jeopardize his chances at that gift card just because he was jealous over some guy he had never talked to. He may be the ‘dumb one’ of his friends, but he wasn’t an  _ idiot _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! The next chapter will probably be up tomorrow night, if everything goes according to plan. Like I said in the last chapter, this needs to be done by Saturday, otherwise it is never going to be finished. So, here's to hoping. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, and see you next chapter!


	4. The Declaration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who decided it was a good idea to let Lance drink?

Lance’s brow furrowed in concentration as he worked tirelessly at his task. His concentration didn’t waver, and his mind didn’t wander. It was just him and his hands, and nothing else. He was so clo-

“Lance? What the hell are you doing?” Hunk’s voice startled Lance, causing him to flinch. He cursed and threw down his hands.

“I’m trying to get this goddamn glue off my hands,” he whined. 

Hunk looked unimpressed. Lance was starting to suspect that it was his default expression. 

“Uh-huh. How’s the door going?”

Lance’s face brightened. “It’s great! I just put the finishing touches on. Wanna see?” 

Hunk shrugged and Lance collected his long-forgotten notes and papers. They headed down the hall.

“Have you and Pidge finished that Compsci project?” Hunk asked.

Lance felt a little tingle of shame in his chest. “No…” he started, “but, I’m sure she’s doing fine without me.” He frowned at his own words, and the tingle in his chest grew. 

Hunk sighed. “I know she’s doing fine with the work, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be helping,” he scolded. 

“I know,” Lance moaned. “I have a problem. But tonight the winner of the contest will be announced, and this whole ordeal will be over. Have a little faith!” 

As he finished talking, the two of them arrived at Lance’s room. Lance watched Hunk’s reaction carefully as his friend took in the masterpiece that was his door.

“Great, right?” Lance hoped that Hunk couldn’t detect the edge of desperation in his voice. He was more invested in this competition than he thought. 

Hunk turned back to Lance. “It’s actually pretty good,” he said, sounding impressed. 

“What do you mean ‘actually’ pretty good? Did you expect it to be terrible?” Lance teased.

“No! No, I just… hadn’t really had expectations. I mean, you’ve never really tried to be artistic before…” Hunk scratched the back of his neck. “It’s great, Lance.”

Lance breathed a silent sigh of relief. He knew that Hunk would’ve told him it was great no matter what, but hearing it out loud helped calm him slightly. The anxiety that had been building up in preparation for the announcement of winners was starting to get to him. He knew it was stupid, but he really wanted to win this competition. Not just for the Starbucks card, but also… also because he hadn’t felt good about himself in a while. Between the demands of school, the pressure to be social, and his failures in romance, he was starting to feel like he just couldn’t win. It’s not that he was totally hopeless, it was more that he could never seem to be anything above average. His grades were average, he was an average friend. Romantically, he hadn’t been on a date in a while, but that was  _ average _ for the people he knew. He just couldn’t seem to get ahead, and the door decorating contest seemed like the perfect way to prove to himself that he could be  _ good _ at something, for the first time. 

 

・・・

 

There were four minutes until the results of the contest came out, and Lance was doing his goddamn best to keep his shit together. He, Hunk, and Pidge were huddled around Pidge’s laptop in Lance’s room. Hunk was less huddled and more sprawled, on Lance’s bed, intent on finishing the chapter of his book “before everything goes to hell”, he had said. So Lance was at his desk, hunched over the computer, hitting the refresh button on his email every three seconds. Pidge was right next to him, watching intently as well, although Lance suspected that had more to do with making sure he didn’t break her computer. 

He hit refresh again. Nothing. He clicked again. Nothing. One minute left. Click. Nothing. Click. Nothing. Click. Noth-

A new email popped up in his inbox, making Lance’s heart jump about three feet up into his throat. He reached back without looking and hit Hunk’s leg a couple times to get his attention. Hunk grumbled something intelligible, but sat up. Lance took a deep breath, and clicked the email. It read:

 

THE RESULTS ARE IN! WINNER OF THE ALTEA U HALLOWEEN DOOR DECORATING CONTEST IS:

KEITH KOGANE - ROOM 228

  
  


_ Oh.  _

 

Lance blinked.  _ Oh _ . He didn’t feel the rush of emotion he expected to. Just-- nothing.  _ Oh _ . He realized he hadn’t said anything when Hunk clapped a hank on his shoulder, startling him. 

“Congrats, Buddy! You got runner up! That’s pretty cool. I mean, you definitely deserved first place, but runner up is awesome.” 

Lance’s confusion prompted him to look back at the screen. There, below Keith’s name, it said: 

 

Runner Up: Lance McClain - Room 223

 

_ Well that’s-- something _ , he thought. Second place.  _ Average _ . He blinked again, and then shrugged. Hunk’s hand slid off his shoulder. 

“Thanks, Hunk. I’m really happy about this. I mean, mine was good, obviously, but you should go look at Keith’s door. It’s pretty cool.” Lance kept his tone light. He could hear the relief in Hunk’s voice when he replied. 

“Yeah, I probably will. It’s really great that you’re being so mature about this. I mean with the obsession and everything, I expected you to be on the floor right now,” he said. 

Lance tried to smile at Hunk through the reflection on the screen. “Yeah, I know. But it really isn’t a big deal. I mean, it’s just a door, right? No need to get upset. It’s nothing.” 

If Hunk could hear the lie in his words, he didn’t say anything. 

 

・・・

 

Lance’s boots were starting to pinch. He probably deserved it, for buying them so last minute, but Hunk had insisted on the Disney theme, so… there he was. Hiking down the street with his friends, dressed as Flynn Rider. Beside him, Pidge, Hunk, and Shay (Peter Pan, Belle, and the Beast, respectively) parade quietly, on their way to the upperclassman party that Pidge had magically gotten invitations to. It was October 27th; four days before Halloween, and one day after the results came out. Lance had yet to take down his door decorations. 

“That’s it,” Pidge piped up, pointing at a house coming up on their right. It was small and shabby-looking, but there were colorful lights streaming out of the windows, and Lance could feel the beat from where he was standing. He took a deep breath before the four of them crossed the threshold, and was instantly assaulted with the booming sound of Rihanna’s  _ Monster _ on his eardrums. He looked to his left, but Hunk, Shay, and Pidge had already disappeared into the mass of bodies crammed into the small room, leaving him alone by the door.  _ Great _ . 

Lance scanned the room, trying to spot a familiar face among the crown, as he made his way over to the table of snacks and booze in the corner. He spotted Pidge on one of the couches, gesturing wildly at her brother, who was sporting a long white beard and pointy hat of Gandalf.  _ Nerd _ . He was probably how Pidge got the invites. Further into the room, he spotted Allura, dressed as Arwen(she must’ve matched with Matt), dancing with someone in the middle of the room. Lance was surprised to realize that he barely even felt jealous, despite the fact that she looked like a literal angel. His anger came sweeping back in full form, however, a moment later, when he spotted a certain dark-haired boy against the far wall. 

Lance blamed the darkness of the room for the amount of time it took to fully register what Keith looked like. He was wearing the tightest black pants that Lance had ever seen, the kind that made his brain short out a little. He also wore an equally tight black long-sleeve shirt, that hugged his torso in such a way that Lance could see  _ every _ muscle in his body. And boy, were there a lot of muscles. And… a tail? Lance could see it curving around the back of Keith’s thigh, coming to rest just below his knee. Lance looked back up, and realized that there was also a pair of pointed ears resting on top of Keith’s head. And when Keith turned his head back in Lance’s direction, he could see the black nose and whiskers painted on his face. It was ridiculously cute. And totally not fair. 

Lance’s disappointment over the contest came rushing back to him, and he pulled his eyes away from Keith. Keith, who probably didn’t even know he existed. Who had probably never been  _ average _ in his entire life. Lance shoved through the crowd the rest of the way to the snack table. He could feel the resentment rising inside of him, threatening to spill over. He grabbed the nearest bottle, poured a cup, and drank. No sense in being upset  _ and _ sober. 

 

・・・

 

Three cups later, and Lance was starting to regret not looking at the label on what he was drinking. Whatever it was, the effect was a lot stronger than he had intended. He had used seven different pickup lines in the last half hour, and was wobbling like a newborn fawn every time he tried to walk more than a yard. He was starting to think it was time to go home. It’s not like he was having fun, anyway. Hunk and Shay were spending the entire time being cute and couple-y, and making Lance take pictures of them in different  _ Beauty and the Beast _ -themed poses. And Pidge, for some reason, had vanished into the bathroom. Something to do with “the undiscovered potential of the electric toothbrush”, he was pretty sure. Lance had managed to have one pleasant conversation with Allura, but had bowed out once a girl in a Galadriel costume came up and took her hand. Lance may have made progress, but he still wasn’t ready to be around Allura and her girlfriend. He wasn’t there quite yet.

The cool night air was a shock to Lance as he stepped out of the house. After a few deep breaths, he felt more calm. Calm enough to walk home, at least. He started to make his way across the poorly maintained lawn, with his phone out, texting Hunk to let him know that Lance had left. He was drunk, but he wasn’t  _ stupid _ . He wasn’t just going to vanish. He was just… stepping out. Recusing himself. Making the educated (albeit intoxicated) decision to remove himself from a volatile situation. He was being mature, and Hunk absolutely would approve, so shut up. 

It all went to shit, however, when he heard his name. He whirled around, ready to let Hunk know about his adult decision-making process, but froze when he saw who it was that addressed him. 

“Hey! You’re Lance right?” Keith padded down the steps and stopped, about ten feet in front of Lance. 

Lance cleared his throat, trying to make some of the mental fog go away. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.” He internally cringed at the sound of his own voice, noticeably tinged with bitterness. 

Keith eyebrows lowered just slightly. “I uh, just wanted to say congrats. On the door, I mean. You’re right down the hall from me, so I saw it. It was really great,” he said. He sounded almost rushed, as if he had practiced what he was going to say, and just wanted to get it over with. 

“Thanks, dude. Yours was really great too. You’re Keith, right?” Lance tried to pretend that he hadn’t thought about that name for the last few weeks straight. He wasn’t sure how successful the attempt was. 

Keith frowned a little more. “Yeah. Thanks. Do you--” he paused for a moment. “Are you okay? You seem a little… out of it.”

“Thanks man, real helpful,” Lance muttered under his breath. 

Keith was full on scowling. “What?” he asked, but his tone suggested he might not want to know the answer.

Lance was done with this. He threw his hands in the air. “I’m fine, okay? I just lost  _ again _ at the  _ one fucking thing _ that I thought was going well and I can’t even be mad at you because you’re so fucking  _ stunning _ and now I get to be average at everything for the rest of my fucking life!” Lance’s voice had risen to a yell, and he heaved a breath.  _ He was not going to cry in front of Keith _ . 

Keith didn’t say anything. Instead, he just stood there, looking equal parts pissed and confused. It was a feeling that Lance could strongly relate to at that moment. 

Lance pulled his fingers through his hair. “Just-- fuck this. I’m leaving.” He turned on his heel, not giving Keith the opportunity to respond. There was nothing he could say that would make Lance feel better, anyway. 

Lance barely even noticed the chill on his way back to his room. He barely noticed the fact that his vision was starting to blur. And miraculously, he barely noticed when he passed Keith’s door, still covered in the painting. Instead, Lance arrived at his own door, breathing hard, and barely preventing himself from crying. He stared at his door for a full minute.  _ Fuck this _ . He took one corned of the paper underneath the whole thing, and pulled, ripping a wide strip of the paper off from corner to corner. He dropped the paper, took hold of another corner, and repeated the motion. He kept going until the entire sheet was crumpled in front of him on the floor. 

He gathered all of it in his arms, kicked his door open, and dumped it on top of the trash can in the corner. It fell over with a soft thud, and Lance wanted to scream. He slammed the door to his room shut behind him. He took a deep breath, desperate to keep the tears at bay. It wasn’t working. He just-- he needed to sit down. He fell hard onto his bed and kicked his boots off to the other end of the room.  _ Deep breath. Lie down. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.  _ Lance repeated in his head over and over. 

He was still repeating it when he fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! And sorry it's like two weeks late. I got to school, so I don't have a lot of time anymore. Next chapter should be up within the next week or so, but no promises. 
> 
> Thanks!!


	5. The Exoneration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is a mess, but Keith has his shit together.

Lance woke up to the end of the world. He could hear the deafening rumble of the earth come to swallow him whole. Even without opening his eyes, he was blinded by the light of heaven descending. His head was pounding in time with the tremors beneath him, and his heart was racing as well. This was it. This was the end. 

He reached out to his side and grabbed his phone from where it was trying to vibrate off his night table. He cracked his eyes open to squint at the screen. At the sight of Hunk’s name, he tapped the red button. He sighed in relief as the vibrations stopped assaulting his ears. Moving slowly, so as not to tip over from dizziness, Lance sat up. A sharp pain stabbed through his head, and he folded in on himself, clutching his legs until it passed. He was never, ever, going to drink again. Ever. 

His phone buzzed again and Lance braced himself for the onslaught, but it didn’t continue. He glanced at the screen. Hunk had just texted him this time, asking where he was. Lance didn’t respond. He had no desire to hear Hunk’s lecture about the dangers of walking home drunk or whatever it would be this time. And he certainly didn’t want to hear Pidge’s teasing once she found out what he’d said to Keith.  _ Ugh, Keith _ . How had he managed to embarrass himself so thoroughly? 

He could never leave his room, now. What if someone saw him? What if  _ Keith _ saw him? Maybe he could fake his death. That seemed like the best solution at this point. 

Lance groaned, and stood up as slowly as humanly possible. His head pounded some more, but he managed to take a step in the direction of his door. If there were two things he knew could fix him, they were a shower and a cup of coffee. 

 

・・・

 

Two hours later, Lance could not for the life of him work up the energy to go to the nearest Starbucks, and the dining hall coffee was unacceptable. He had managed to reply to Hunk and field his concerns, but there was no chance of convincing him to bring Lance coffee. And Pidge would probably demand that he tell her what happened in return for such a favor, which meant that she was out of the picture as well. 

Lance was hunkered over his desk, computer open. He had already checked his email, read his assigned article for cell biology, and gone over his biochemistry notes, and was at that point scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. There was nothing new to see, just the usual artful selfies and dog photos, but the familiar action was comforting nonetheless. 

Three knocks on his door made Lance look up from his screen. He frowned. It was probably Hunk, unconvinced after Lance told him that he was fine. He stood, and made his way over. He rolled his eyes as he pulled the door open, prepared to tell Hunk, yet again, that he didn’t need a hug, although coffee would be apprecia--

Lance froze in place. There, standing on the other side of the door, was Keith, looking...fuck. Looking stupidly attractive, of course. His hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and he was missing his leather jacket today, with just a (tight) dark red t-shirt instead. Lance was suddenly aware of the fact that he was just wearing ratty blue pajama pants and a tank top, despite it being four in the afternoon. 

“Uh, hi?” Lance said, deeply confused. 

“Hi.” Keith, for some reason, looked almost as confused about Lance, as if he didn’t know why he was there. He hesitated as he spoke. “I just wanted to say sorry, uh, for yesterday. I didn’t mean to upset you and…” he thrust a hand out at Lance, who realized that he was being offered a cup of coffee, still steaming, with the Starbucks logo emblazoned on its side. Keith had a matching cup in his other hand. Lance took it slowly, not saying anything. He didn’t know what to say, honestly. 

Keith, garnering no response, continued to talk. “I also wanted to say that, uh, I-- I don’t think you’re average.” 

Lance almost dropped his cup. 

“Actually,” Keith seemed to be gaining confidence, “I brought you this as a peace offering, I guess. And also… to see if maybe you wanted to get coffee  _ with _ me sometime?” 

“ _ What? _ ”

Keith reacted to Lance’s tone only by raising an eyebrow. “I mean, you called me-- what was it? ‘Stunning’? And you’re not so bad looking yourself, so…” 

“Not so bad? Thanks, kick a man while he’s down, why don’t you,” Lance griped, but he couldn’t resist the smile forming on his face. “I bet if you saw me at my best, you’d be all over me in a second.” 

Keith was smiling, too. “Oh, yeah? Why don’t you prove it? Get coffee with me tomorrow morning, ‘looking your best’, and we’ll see.”

“Deal,” Lance replied haughtily.

Keith grinned, almost blinding Lance, who realized he had never seen Keith smile like that before. “It’s a date.”

Something in Lance’s mind went a little fuzzy when he heard that word. He blamed it on the hangover. 

Before Lance could reply, Keith was walking away, sipping his coffee as if this were the most natural situation in the world. Lance was still reeling a little from their conversation, but he lifted the cup that he had been given and took a taste.  _ Caramel Frappuccino. Huh _ . He examined the outside of the cup, and almost dropped it again when he saw a phone number scrawled across the side in pen. Lance smiled to himself, and was hit with yet another realization.  _ He must have used the gift card _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you for reading! I really appreciate all the kudos and comments I get on this. Please let me know what you think! Any and all support really makes me want to keep writing. 
> 
> So, only one chapter left! Actually, I might make it two more, but we'll see. My classes also officially start tomorrow, which means I'll be a bit busy, but hopefully the next chapter will be up this week or next. 
> 
> Thanks!!!


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